


Turquoise Slippers

by iamjustme



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 20:56:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2555366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamjustme/pseuds/iamjustme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity has a bad day. Oliver tries to make it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turquoise Slippers

Oliver and Dig circle each other slowly on the mat, watching carefully for every tell and muscle twitch. Roy works over the punching bag half-heartedly while listening to their banter. 

Oliver faints and Digs goes to block it with his right. Twisting, Oliver avoids Dig’s right jab. As he grabs Dig’s wrist, he twists it up behind him. Dig bends, grunting, and reaches for Oliver’s knee. Oliver lets him go, pushing him away, and bounces back on his toes, wiping the sweat out of his eyes. Dig shakes himself loose, checking his joints, before stepping back into Oliver’s space for another round. 

“You grappling or sparring?” Roy asks, raising an eyebrow. Oliver opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off.

The door slams open and shut in quick succession, echoing across the large room. Oliver looks over, frowning, as Felicity storms in. The music from her iPhone reaches his ears despite the tinny quality. The angry beat thumps in time with the click of her stilettos against the cold concrete. 

Dig hits Oliver in the side and goes for a kick to his knee before Oliver can get his guard back up. Not having enough time to block, Oliver moves into the hit and shifts his weight to keep his feet. He tries for Dig’s ankle, nearly catching it, before Dig springs backward and out of his reach. 

Oliver narrows his eyes, grinning. “Cheap shot.” He tosses his gloves to Roy. “Your turn.”

Dig shrugs. “Too good to pass up.” 

Felicity tosses her bag roughly onto a table; it slides off and onto the floor. She ignores it, takes the earbuds out of her ears, and attempts to unplug them from her phone. The wire tangles with itself as only iPhone earbuds can and she growls, pulling them roughly out of the jack and throwing them onto the floor beside her purse. 

“Fuck this. Fuck them. Fucking arrgh!” She slams her fist down onto the table.

Oliver snags a towel and wipes himself down before taking a sip from his water bottle. He heads cautiously past Felicity and into the supply closet.

Roy looks between Oliver and Felicity for a moment. He raises his eyebrow to Dig who shuffles back, hands raised. “I’m not getting in the middle of that.” 

“Me either.” Roy straps the gloves on, “Ready?”

“Let’s go.”

Oliver closes the supply closet quietly behind himself. Felicity leans against the table, breathing hard. She forcefully kicks off her heels, scattering them across the floor, and heads over to her desk barefoot. 

She nudges the chair out of the way and crawls under the desk, digging through an old duffle bag. The chair rolls back toward her and bumps against her side.

Oliver frowns and looks to the two men sparring—no help there. He walks over to Felicity and moves her chair farther away with one hand. The other hand casually drops what he took out of the storage room onto it. 

He slides out of the way, giving her a bit more room to maneuver, before he crouches down next to her. 

“Don’t,” she bites out.

“All right,” Oliver raises his hands in surrender and backs off.

Felicity stands up, a pair of sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt in her hands. She nudges the duffle back under her desk with her foot, and then looks at pointedly at Oliver for a moment. Confusion creases his brow. She sighs and hikes up her dress. 

Oliver turns away immediately, admiring his weapons case and focusing on the steady sounds of Roy and Dig trading blows and moving quickly over the mats. Oliver grabs the high heel near his foot and its mate several feet away and places them on the table. 

Felicity quickly skims off her nylons, flinging them onto her desk when they stick to her. She steps into her sweatpants and drags them up under her dress before turning her back to him.

“Unzip me,” she snaps.

“Sure.” Oliver does an about-face and gently tugs her zipper down. Turning back around, he picks up her purse, tucks her earbuds into it, and puts it next to her shoes.

She yanks the oversized t-shirt on over her dress and before pulling her arms out of it, and through the t-shirts’ sleeves. She pushes the dress down over her sweatpants and kicks it off with a huff. 

“Socks, socks, socks. Need socks,” Felicity mutters as she drops back down under the desk and rifles through her duffle again.

He bends down and gathers her discarded dress, still warm from her body. He folds it neatly over his arm and then lays it on top of her purse. The nylons give him static shock when he touches them. He wraps them up and tucks them into her dress so they don’t catch on anything and run. 

Oliver clears his throat, “Felicity?” He spins her desk chair around.

She turns to him, banging her head on the underside of the desk. She bites her lip, “Ow.” And turns to Oliver, “What?”

He raises his eyebrows toward the chair, his lips upturned. She follows his gaze. 

Slippers. 

He got her slippers—turquoise slippers. She smiles, just a hint, before sliding her feet into them and climbing up into her chair.

“Thanks.”

“So, work wasn’t good?” Dig chuckles in the background and Roy lands a solid hit to his side.

“Idiots. All of them are idiots. I don’t know how I’m supposed to run Queen Consolidated’s sneaky Applied Sciences division with an IT team that can’t tell Windows 98 from a Linux system.” 

“Then this would be a bad time to ask you to hunt down Nyssa?”

Felicity shakes her head and spins so she’s facing her monitors. “Do we have a tracer?” she asks exasperatedly. Her eyes flick up at him. Oliver shakes his head. “Or anything to go on?”

“Traffic cameras. I spotted her down by 45th and Franklin last night around 2 a.m.”

“At least that’ll give me a place to start.” Oliver hovers over her and squeezes her shoulder gently. She rests back against him and rubs her face on his bicep.

“Find her and eventually she’ll lead us to Ras.”

“I need caffeine and warm food if I’m going to be here all night. Jerry kept bringing me decaf. I think the Starbucks baristas hate him or me. Or both. There’s definitely hate somewhere for someone.”

Oliver straightens up. “And while you’re looking into that, I’ll go pick up some Big Belly Burger.”

Felicity spins to face him, her eyes lighting up, “I want a burger and chocolate shake and a large fry to dip in it…and two cokes—no ice.” 

“Will do,” he tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “You want anything, Diggle? Roy?”

“Burger, fries, and a root beer?” Diggle asks, rubbing his ribs.

“Nothing for me. Thea and I have reservations at nine.”

“Sure thing.” Oliver pats his pockets and makes his way to the door.

Felicity sets a couple of programs to run and tugs her hair out of her ponytail. She combs her fingers through it before putting it back up. She adjusts her glasses and turns back to her monitors, getting her game face on.

“All right, Ras. Where are you?”

**Author's Note:**

> I was talking with My Person about how Felicity is always in business wear, which can't be comfortable at 2am while hacking and hunting down bad guys. He suggested that Oliver give her slippers—she bought him a bed and a fern after all.


End file.
